“It would take more than a finger,” said Spark in her sultry voice in my head.
“I’d like to get to know you better too,” I said.
“Hubba hubba,” said my lynx.
Chapter 12
I’ve read and re-read all the Nancy Drew, Charlaine Harris and Jessica Fletcher books in the library, but none of them told me how to sleep when in the middle of an investigation. I tossed and turned and tossed some more. My mind reeled with images of the Death card and Alderman Harris hanging from a rope.
I stretched, took deep breaths, counted handsome hunks and goats. I did all my usual calming routines, but nothing worked, so I got up, threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and headed outside.
An almost full moon peaked between clouds, lighting my path. I had no destination. I just wanted to breath the night air deep into my lungs. The moon called me, as it always does, stirring the magic in my blood. It made me feel strong, competent and wild.
I laughed at myself. The moon did many things for me, but it did not give me the answers I sought. I reached the woods and kept walking. The fresh scent of the forest was intoxicating. I wandered, enjoying the nature around me and the stillness of the night. I let it seep into my senses.
One way or another I needed to accept that Jinx had been turned. I needed to embrace her powers as I embraced my own. But that was the whole problem. I hadn’t yet accepted being a witch. I’d been fighting it all the way. No one grows up wanting to be a witch. Not really. At least not someone as mundane as me. If I had my druthers, I’d want to be rich and travel the world. I had no need for supernatural powers and, as far as I could see, they did nothing but get me into trouble.
“That’s not completely true,” said Spark.
“What good is it to be a witch?”
“What good is it to be a human? It’s not about philosophy, Blondie, it’s about reality. You are what you are and you are a witch. A good witch and a powerful one. The sooner …”
A branch broke nearby. I froze. “Did you hear that?”
Spark climbed the closest tree.
The moon slid behind a cloud, leaving me in darkness. The air, which had smelled so wonderful a minute before, now smelled … heavy. My witch senses screamed. All was not well.
Where the hell was I? A good mile from home and any kind of weapon I might have, that’s where. Heck, I didn’t even have a flashlight.
Another branch broke.
That had to be a good sign. Right? Supernaturals don’t usually make sounds when they hunt. They just pounce.
Another. Closer.
Unless they do make sounds. A cold breeze rustled through the trees, and I folded my arms across my chest. Should I make a run for it?
The sour smell of decay assaulted me. Death and decay. I remembered it from McGregor’s land. What had Eric said? “Be careful.” Like those two words could do me any good now. Why did I have to be in love with a wordless Viking? I swallowed.
The air cooled and all I could hear was the sound of my own heart thudding in my throat. “Who’s out there?” I said.
Silence.
“What do you want from me?”
Silence.
My gut said fight or die. I pulled in my witch powers. “I call on the energy of the forest … on the spirits of the air … on the power of the moon … I call on all of nature … shield me from this force, be my armor of protection … so mote it be.”
The sound of the wind diminished. The moon re-appeared. I found myself in the forest meadow I visited every full moon. My heartbeat returned to normal. Whatever had chased me had left.
Had I done that?
Spark rubbed against my legs. “I told you, you’re strong.”
“This time,” I said.
“Abby?” Eric’s voice came from a distance. “Are you out there?”
I bent down and scratched Spark’s ears. “Looks like it was the power of a Viking as well.”
He appeared a minute later, sweating and panting. “Good. I’m happy you are all right.” He moved in to kiss me, but I backed away.
“If you care for me at all,” I said, “you need to tell me about the shadow-warlock following me.”
His arctic-blue eyes shone in the moonlight. “On my last assignment I was …” He stopped and stretched his neck. “In a foreign land, where the inhabitants don’t live in corporeal states. They live in shadow forms.” He moved closer and gently pushed hair out of my eyes.
“Another dimension,” I said.
“Ja.” He traced the side of my face gently with his finger. “My job was to give a warning to a leader of a band of outlaws that if he didn’t pay the wizard of the realm what he owed him, he would be targeted for death.”
“Sounds nasty.” I pulled his hand from my face.
“In my ghost form I moved among them as best I could. Not being used to the climate of their world, I found getting around difficult.” His eyes probed mine.
“I can’t imagine.” I really couldn’t. “Did you accomplish your mission?”
He moved closer. I could feel his breath on my face. “The target paid his debt.” He leaned in.
“So, what went wrong?”
“I left, thinking everything had worked out, but when I got back to Egregore I learned my target had been killed after he paid his debt. The wizard wanted him dead, but I didn’t know that. I had been used to track him. It was an ugly death and his son wants revenge.”
“But you didn’t kill him.”
“No, I didn’t. But I located him.” Eric shrugged and traced my other cheek.
“You are immortal. No one can kill you. Right?”
He traced my lips. “Let’s just say it’s difficult to kill me, but it’s not difficult to hurt the one I love.”
“Eric …”
He shook his head. “I hate it when we fight. You use a lot of words. All I want to say is three words: I love you. I love you, Abby, more than you will ever know.”
“Eric …”
He held up his hand to stop me from talking. “And that’s why I have to leave. I’m going to catch the shadow-warlock who follows you, and I will end him. You have my word.”
“I don’t want your word. I want …”
He leaned in. Our lips met. My anger gave way to a golden moment. I forgot he had betrayed my trust in him. I forgot he had become an assassin. I forgot all the things I held so tightly against him. My resentment, my anger, my frustration melted away. All I felt was his love, our love.
As he pulled me closer to him, I pushed back. The moment broke. We had too dark a history. Sometimes love just isn’t enough.
Chapter 13
Sunlight poured through my windows, and the birds sang. I loved spring, the return of the light. I rolled onto my back and stretched my legs. It was 5 a.m.
I needed coffee. The black elixir may not fix my messed-up love life, solve my case, or salve my pre-date jitters, but it would settle my caffeine-addicted nerves.
“Yada, yada, freaking crazy yada.” Spark rolled over beside me and yawned.
When did she crawl into my bed? She has her own bed on the floor in the corner. My bed was off-limits. Hmm. That would explain the hair I found on the sheets last laundry day.
“Don’t you get tired of listening to yourself?” Spark asked.
“I leave that to you,” I said and hit her with my pillow.
“Blondie, you gotta stop belly-aching. It’s b…oring! Live a little.”
I grumbled. She had a point.
“How many women have a Viking in love with them? I’ll tell you–—none!”
I got up and threw on a robe. “Okay, oh wise lynx. Tell me what you think about Gus.”
“Yum,” she said in her throaty voice. “I say jump him and have at it. It will clear your head.”
I laughed all the way down the stairs, with the image of doing just that playing in my head. The problem was that at thirty-two I didn’t want to just play anymore. I had lived too much for that.
When the playing was done, there were always repercussions for someone.
“Haven’t you heard of condoms?” Spark followed at my heels.
Sometimes having her in my head was really annoying.
“I heard that.”
Of course she did. She heard everything in my mind. “Seriously,” I said. “Do you think Eric will stand by and watch me get involved with a human male?”
“Supernatural sparks will fly, but that will make it all the more fun. Breaking taboos is soooo sexy.” She meowed. “It’s time you took a man to your bed, Blondie. You’re a full-blooded woman and a hot witch. You have needs.”
The pre-set pot of coffee filled the lower floor with the very best of smells. I inhaled deeply. “If I were to have a fling …”
“Now you’re talking.”
“‘If,’ I said.”
“Go on.”
“It would need to be out of town, away from probing eyes.” I wasn’t sure such a place existed. Eric could wander different dimensions in a human or ghost form, so I was pretty sure he could find a nearby town.
“As long as I’m there, I’m happy,” said Spark.
“I don’t want an audience.”
“You sure about that? Take it from an expert. Having someone watch can make it more fun.”
“Good grief.” I poured myself my first cup of bliss. No one would be up for a couple hours. I had time to myself, time to think.
“Imagine,” said Spark, nudging my calf, “having Eric and Gus in bed with you.”
“Whoa. That’s way too much … manliness.”
“Meow.” Her meow was not subtle.
“And what about Dante?” I said.
“Save him for dessert.”
I gagged on my coffee. Now there was a smorgasbord to think about. “You’re a naughty influence.”
A man’s voice jarred me back to reality. “Naughty? I like the sound of that.” Dante swept into the kitchen. It seemed to be one of his witch things. He fixed me with his molten-chocolate gaze. “I would love to be naughty with you, Carina.”
His voice flowed along my skin as if it were a physical caress, waking up every bit of my body. I sighed. Purple mist rose from the palm of his hand. He snapped his fingers and a bouquet of pink peonies, my favorites, appeared in his hand. He presented them to me and bowed.
My cheeks burned. “The moon must be near full,” I said.
“Yes, I came to remind you of that, but it seems you need no reminding.” He sniffed the air. “You smell divinely female, and wantonly witch.”
I put up my hand. “Dante, give me a break.”
His bad boy grin took over his face. “There will come a day when you will tell me you don’t want a break.”
I put down my cup. “Look, Dante, let me be clear.” Again. “You and I aren’t going to happen.”
“Keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll convince someone.”
“Dessert,” said Spark. “Sweet, decadent dessert.”
I glared at her.
“You are not interested in having a family,” I said to him, “and I’m a package deal. I don’t see you growing a paternal heart, so nothing—I repeat, nothing—is going to happen between us.”
“Except for exquisite kisses under the full moon.”
There was that. Boy, oh boy—or maybe I should say witch, oh witch—could Dante kiss.
Shreddie barked. I heard a knock at my front door. Dante followed me. “Why are the cops after you?”
“Cops?”
“It’s a cop at your door.”
“You see through doors? You gotta teach me that.”
“No, it’s more of a smell. Officious and repugnant.”
I opened the door to find Gus in full uniform. He looked at my hand holding the bouquet and his right brow lifted. “Bad timing?”
I looked behind me to introduce Dante, but he had vanished. I could try to explain the flowers, but I chose not to. “Coffee’s on. Want a cup?”
“Sure.”
We moved into the kitchen. I put the flowers in a crystal vase, with an art-nouveau design embossed on the front of it, that came with the manor and placed them in the middle of the kitchen table that was cluttered with toy cars. Gus took a seat and watched me intently, as if he were a cat watching a mouse. I poured two mugs of coffee and brought them to the table.
“I—” he started.
I held up a finger. “Please, I need at least half a cup before I talk.” I inhaled the smell of my coffee.
His crooked smile appeared and part of me melted. Wicked mojo. Subtle, back-door, aw-shucks boy-scout charm that could break down the best of barriers, and mine weren’t at their best, given the state of the moon and my empty bed. Perhaps a fling with a human male would do me some good.
As the coffee slid down my throat and the caffeine penetrated my haze, I wondered why he had returned so soon. I pulled my scraggly housecoat tightly around me.
His gray eyes looked far too awake for this time of the day. He must be one of those morning people. After sitting contentedly for five minutes his left knee began to fidget.
I enjoyed his discomfort. Call me mean, but anyone who dares enter my domain before my first cup of coffee deserves no less. I kept drinking, closing my eyes to express my bliss and taking a wee bit of pleasure in his discomfort.
Five seconds later his right knee fidgeted. How much longer could he wait?
Two seconds later. “Abbie, I have work to do.”
“Okay. Shoot. Why are you here? I thought our date was for later today.”
He tilted his head and hesitated before he spoke. “I’m between calls. I came by to tell you to stop investigating the tarot card mystery.”
I put down my coffee.
His gaze strengthened. “Your client is dead.”
I cleared my throat. “All the more reason to pursue my investigation, Constable. I’m no quitter. I see things to the end.”
“Constable? Ouch.”
“You have no right to tell me who or what I should investigate. I have a license.” Printed on my own computer by a PI certification firm of sketchy repute, but, all the same, I did have a license.
“Zane won’t tell you, but I will. Stay out of it.”
“And why didn’t Zane want to tell me?” I glared at him over the rim of my cup.
“He says you’ll just do what you want to do anyway.”
“He’s a wise man,” I said.
“I don’t want you playing cards with a murderer.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Constable, I can handle myself. When I play, I set the stakes.”
His eyes dipped down to my chest. Crap, my housecoat had opened up. I pulled it tight and retied the belt. “Look, Gus, I appreciate your concern. I really do.” And I did, perhaps too much. “But I feel obligated to find out what’s going on. I owe it to Harris.”
“Keeping the town safe is our job.”
“Cops can only do so much. There are people”—and supernaturals, but I didn’t say that— “who will talk to me who won’t talk to you.”
“Really? You’re going to play that card?”
“What? You don’t believe me?”
“No I don’t. I’m good at getting people to open up. They tell me it’s my smile. I’m not as good as you at getting people to talk. I’m better.”
People, maybe. He did have charm. But supernaturals would be immune to that. But I didn’t say any of that. I gave him my blonde smile. “I have my ways,” I said and waved my finger in the air, “and there are things about this town you just don’t understand.”
Chapter 14
A few hours later, I parked the car outside Pandora’s Gifts, the magically enhanced craft store owned and operated by Aria Adams, a local, enterprising witch. Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs decorated the front door, which gave me the heebie-jeebies. While I couldn’t translate them, I knew them to be a welcoming spell of some sort, because they made my nose twitch. I didn’t feel fear, exactly, but hesitancy, as
if the power behind the door should be respected. Until that day, they had kept me away.
The handle felt hot. Scary hot. I was so out of my depth. I wanted to call Dante, but I wouldn’t. I had to do this on my own, even though this witch could be far stronger than me in all things magic. I mean really, magical, ancient, Egyptian hieroglyphs! I was still trying to use a simple spell to stir my coffee with a spoon. I entered her domain.
A string of bells on the inside of the door jingled, an unexpectedly happy sound. The shop appeared empty. Both sides of the front room were lined with display cases, filled with collections of crystals, talismans of all shapes and sizes, tarot cards, potions, incense and runes. They called for my attention. Although many appeared to be the kind of things you’d find in any New Age store that sold trinkets, there were among them items that held their own magical power. I could feel them. Goose bumps rose on my arms.
In the middle of the room sat a round, wooden table with four chairs. On top of it were a tea pot, four china cups and an old cauldron. Not exactly your granny’s tea party.
A cash register, the only sign that this was a place of business, sat on top of the right display case. On the left side, a small Wicca altar sat on top of bright red and orange scarves. Above it hung an incense burner. I smelled sage.
At the back of the room stood two large, over-stuffed bookcases spanning from floor to ceiling. Between them there was an opening covered by strings of tiny seashells. Above it hung a tilted sign: “Private Tarot Card Readings.”
I’m not sure what I expected, but this wasn’t it. Azalea had told me Aria practiced a form of ancient Egyptian magic. All magic was new and scary to me. While those who practiced Wicca adhered to a creed of harming none, not all witches were Wiccan and not all Wiccans behaved. Witchcraft dated back centuries and had so many forms and manifestations, I wasn’t sure I would ever understand it all.
I itched all over. Something wasn’t right.
Aria Adams glided in from the back. Her power needed no introduction.
Death by Tarot Card (A Ghost & Abby Mystery Book 4) Page 6
